Addicted
by MissLovelyLupin
Summary: She ran past the first years walking out the castle. She ran past the Marauders coming down the stairs, and the Ravenclaws walking to the library. She didn't cry or think. She just ran.


**Disclaimer: There can only be one.**

**And that one is JK Rowling. I claim nothing but the plot.**

She really had no reason for the cigarettes. Addiction was beneath her dignity—that was for certain. But she _wanted _them, so it only made sense to do it, right?

Admittedly, she did feel a tiny bit of need for them after the day's events. She knew it could have cost her prefect's badge and almost definitely assured she would not be getting the Head Girl's badge the following year if any professor had witnessed the scene. At the time, however, that was the last thing she cared to think about.

_She was sitting by the lake under her favorite beech tree, basking in the sunshine of early June. She wasn't reading, though that is what she went there intending to do; her book was left on the ground a few feet away opened to a random page. She was just thinking, thinking about the upcoming year and how many changes were sure to come to her last year at Hogwarts. Thinking about Mary and Dorcas and how their lives are being affected by the war just as much as her own. She was thinking about her mother: her dear, sweet, wonderful, _beautiful_ mother whom was currently dying of breast cancer. She couldn't wait to go home and do everything she possibly could to make things better for her, but she knew nothing was going to get better for her. The doctors did everything they could, but all they could do now is let her live in comfort with her family._

_She pleaded with Dumbledore one night for a cure, some magical potion that did away with this horrid affliction, but with sad, tired eyes he explained that even wizards were unsure of how to treat this particular ailment. That night she cried more than she ever remembered._

_Her thoughts were broken by the sound of laughter coming around the lake. "—he thought we were going to do him a favor! Didn't know we weren't taking his wand to show him how to do the spell, but to hex him, did he? Serves him right, the blood-traitor." More laughter followed._

"_Well, what do we have here?" The laughter died abruptly, and she knew their conversation had turned to her though she didn't remove her eyes from the lake. Her posture did, however, stiffen perceptibl_y_. "It's the ickle Gryffindor _mudblood_ is it? To what do we owe our disgust?" The wicked humor in Mulciber's voice quickly turned into malice. _

_She chose not to answer, knowing anything she said would only anger the Slytherins further. "What's this? Is the mudblood ignoring us? Or is she just too daft to speak?" That was Avery. Always the witty one, that one. She could think of about ten far better insults off the top of her head. She always thought, had she not been muggle-born, that she would have made an excellent Slytherin. "Wipe that filthy smirk off you face before we do it for you, Bitch." She hadn't even realized that her previous thoughts caused a smirk to appear on her face. She looked in the direction of Avery and Mulciber's now drawn wands and was unsurprised, yet exceedingly disappointed to see who was lurking just beyond them._

"_Avery. Mulciber…Snape," she acknoledged with a curt nod and began to stand up and grab her all but forgotten book from the ground._

"_I don't think we're quite finished here. I believe this should end with you in the hospital wing. Pity you can't end up dead today. No, that would cause an expulsion and what good would we be to the wizarding world without our _rightfully_ deserved education?" Mulciber seemed truly saddened by the thought of not being able to do more than harm to her. She looked to Severus, hoping beyond hope that he would—for once—stand up for her. Even if it were to only turn the other boys away from her._

_But Snape just stood two feet behind the other two, staring at his shoes without an expression on his face. And perhaps his complete indifference to her is what spurred her outburst. "Education?" she says. "You can hardly call receiving all Trolls on your examinations an education. You fools would do no good for the real world, except perhaps as a—_protego_!" Her rant was cut short by the hex sent her way by Mulciber. Not missing a beat, she called out a bat-bogey hex toward each of the two offenders. Snape finally looked up, expressionless._

"_And what of you, Severus? Are you coming with me? Or staying with them?" She asked without hope. She knew he would choose his house over their previous friendship, but that still didn't stop the hurt she felt from his response."_

_He looked at her with sorrowful eyes and said, "I could never be caught dead with a…mudblood." It was whispered, and she heard the reluctance in his voice, but she ignored it. He couldn't take it back now._

_She looked at him for a long while before muttering, "I do hope you cleaned your underpants today, Snape. _Levicorpus_." She turned and ran. She ran past the first years walking out the castle. She ran past the Marauders coming down the stairs, and the Ravenclaws walking to the library. She didn't cry or think. She just ran._

Sitting on the ledge of the stone wall, she sighed and took a long drag. She had to calm herself; he couldn't see how much he hurt her. She could never give _them_ that satisfaction. But, then again, it was useless to try to hide it from herself. She was alone, after all. Who would care if she broke down up here in the Astronomy tower where no one could see her? _She_ would. She was a Gryffindor through and through—too much pride for her own liking. She'll keep up her façade of self-assurance and strength until it crumbles around her, and even then she'll be fighting to keep it up.

She heard the door open, but without even slightly moving her posture, she knew who it was. She could tell by the way he made no reaction to another's presence in the tower with him. She knew by the sound of his feet: far too proper, he would never drag them. Instead, he walked with a sort of grace that allowed him much lighter footsteps than one would assume.

She acted as though she hadn't noticed him. Keeping her face neutral to emotion, she took another drag of the cigarette in her tiny hand. But she knew he _knew_ she noticed someone was in the room as well as knowing exactly who he was. She blew the smoke out slowly.

"Want an early death, Evans?"

She smiled a mirthless smile. "After the run-in I had today, I don't think very many people would care." Her reply was supposed to come off as a joke; she wasn't supposed to sound so pitiful. She still didn't look at him, afraid to see the pity she thought would be etched on his face. She turned her head downward, ashamed of herself for betraying weakness. Couldn't she act as though it didn't faze her that she was continually belittled by the boy she loved as a brother and even looked up to? She knew the answer but couldn't accept it.

She felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face in his direction. His gaze was unwavering and intense. "Keep your head up, Doll. You're better than them."

But she wasn't. How could he not see her flaws? She wasn't from this beautiful world of theirs. Someone had made a mistake. She didn't belong here. She used to pretend she did, back when she was naïve to the world around her and _he_ believed it too. When he gave up on her, that's when she _knew_. And the thought of _this_ boy that she always _hated_ for trying to ruin the one relationship that meant _everything_ to her infuriated her. She looked at him with a fiery, incensed stare. "And what do _you_ know, Potter? You who lives in a bubble of perfection and naivety with your precious Marauders? You act as if there isn't a war going on all around us! You think your ignorance is justified because you're safe within the walls of Hogwarts, but _look around_ you! Even the students are fighting each other. It's one house against another and another and _another_. Sometimes it's even against your own house. And all of this because of people like _me_, James. People like me who need to get ourselves out of this world before everyone gets hurt." She sighed in ashamed, miserable, _utter_, defeat and looked away from him. "So just stop pretending. There's no need to shelter us from the truth." She looked down to her nearly forgotten cigarette and threw it off the tower.

When she looked back at James, his eyes were narrowed in contempt. When he spoke, his voice was a deadly whisper. "I never pictured Lily Evans as a coward. You're running away from all of this when you could be fighting for the place in _our_ world that's rightfully yours. I'm not pretending or ignorant or daft about everything that's happening, Lily. I choose to put on a brave face each morning because I don't want everyone to think they _have_ to be afraid of life. They don't. _You_ don't."

They stared at each other, each trying to figure the other out. Eventually, Lily whispered, "I'm not afraid…at least, not of the fighting." She knew he understood by the sad smile that curved his lips.

He sat next to her on the ledge. "We're not all like him, Doll. There are some people that you can trust to be there for you and tell you the honest truth, even with everyone around them. He was your best friend, I know, but face it, Evans; you lost hope in him a long time ago. You just chose to ignore it." It was as if he enjoyed making her angry. He was exceptionally good at it, after all. "But you can't let him ruin everyone else's chances at acceptance, Lily. Especially not those who you clearly care for as much as they care for you." He gave her one of his knowing looks that she hated beyond reason.

She sneered. "And _who_, might I ask, would that be?"

"Me." There was no joke in his eyes. No lies or deception, only utter sincerity in those magnificent hazel orbs. "I can see it in your eyes, Lily. You feel for me _exactly_ what I feel for you. You enjoy our bickering and loathing of each other as much as I. You crave my company. You. Love. Me."

And before she could mutter her snarky reply, he was kissing her. Furiously, passionately, lovingly. It was breathtaking; a beautiful representation of their love.

James Potter's kisses were _much_ better than cigarettes, she decided. Something she could very easily get addicted to.

**AN: Hi(: This was just a thought I had in my head for a while, so I thought I'd share. What do you guys think? Read/Review, please!**


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